Intro: Count Rouvaloff

[conspiringcount]

He's a youngish man, dressed well but not extravagantly, and at present looking around with no small measure of confusion. Suddenly he begins to smile, and then to laugh. "A house in the country! Wonderful."

Typist: Count Rouvaloff here appears in both Lord Arthur Savile's Crime and The Nihilists by Oscar Wilde, and since if you tilt your head and

Comments

[colored_gowns]

Arabella offers a polite curtsey. "Good day, sir." And, hopefully, "Do you know this house?"

[conspiringcount]

"I'm afraid not," he says, in careful, Russian-accented English. He bows automatically. "Count Sergei Rouvaloff at your service, Madam."

[colored_gowns]

She curtsies again. "Mrs Arabella Strange. It is a pleasure, Lord Rouvaloff." Her attempt at pronunciation is-- well, an attempt, at least.

[conspiringcount]

"Likewise, Mrs. Strange." His own pronunciation, thanks to spending several years of his youth in England, is better, but certainly far from flawless. ". . . Have you any idea where we are?"

[traitorforlove]

Alexis blinks -- and blinks again, looking amused. "Count Rouvaloff!"

[conspiringcount]

"Ah! Our romantic young emperor." He makes a half-mocking, half-fond sort of bow. "Perhaps you can tell me where it is I've found myself."

[traitorforlove]

"Oh, please don't call me that. You know I never wanted it." He returns the bow, though, with a smile. "We mostly call it the Mansion. I'm afraid no one knows quite where it is."

[conspiringcount]

"How curious. -- Are any of the others here?"

[naturestrangled]

". . . Well. Hello."

[conspiringcount]

"So it's true. You're alive." He's staring. It is something of a shock.

[naturestrangled]

Vera smiles wryly. "Despite my own best efforts, yes. I take it that is what you were thinking."

[conspiringcount]

"I don't believe I said any such thing," he replies, "though of course the story is all over Russia by now."

[sweariwontdie]

The laughs startles him. Armand is always on his way somewhere or another these days, but he passes through the main room often just to catch if anyone has arrived, and someone has. "Bonjour, monsieur. Welcome to the Mansion!" he says brightly.

[conspiringcount]

"Merci," is the response, accented but otherwise passable. "Is that what it's called?"

[sweariwontdie]

"It is. We had to name it ourselves since no one seemed about to claim it."

[conspiringcount]

"Ah. Well, it's a serviceable enough name, if a bit unimaginative."

[not_a_rose]

A man wearing a long open robe over his shirt and trousers, takes in the spectacle of the laughing young man and laughs himself, not so cheerfully. "Where're you from?"

[conspiringcount]

"Russia. Moscow, specifically." A pause. "Besides the obvious, what is this place?"

[not_a_rose]

"It's nowhere really. Most people get stuck here."

[conspiringcount]

"Is there no way out?"